The Word
by E. S. Young
Summary: Boredom is a terrible thing, especially for Max. When he suddenly finds himself with nothing to do, he begins to over think things like this so-called-not-really-relationship with Dizzy Miss Lizzy that he isn't in. VERY random one-shot.


**The Word**

By

_E. S. Young_

**Note****:** This is a result of pure and utter boredom—a simple little one-shot involving an equally bored Max and his part-time lover Dizzy Miss Lizzy. Hope you like it.

**۞۞۞**

He sighed, a puff of smoke from his joint shooting upward where it drifted lazily in the air.

"'M bored."

Lying on his back, sprawled languidly across the lumpy mattress that served as their bed, he couldn't see Lizzy roll her eyes because his own gaze was fixed on the cracked and water-stained ceiling. However, it was quite apparent in her flat, Southern drawl.

"Join the club."

"No thanks. I'd rather stay out of it, since I hear that it's pretty shitty as far as clubs go."

"True," she admitted, shifting so that her head now lay on his chest. "Quite frankly, I'm hoping they kick me out soon."

They were quiet for a moment, both trying to come up with something—anything—that would alleviate their boredom, but drawing a horrible, glaring blank. He scowled at his uncharacteristic lack of imagination, absentmindedly playing with Lizzy's fine, honey-colored hair. He'd already talked her into letting him braid several pieces of it, so that was out. Damnit, what the hell could they _do?_

"'M bored."

"You already said that," she pointed out.

"Well, gimme something to do and hopefully I won't say it again."

"What? I believe it's _your _job to be the entertaining one, here."

"No," he corrected. "It's my job to entertain others, but somebody else has to provide amusements for _me_. So…" He poked her lightly. "…hop to it, baby. The sooner you help me, the sooner I can help you."

She heaved a sigh, causing feathery bangs to flutter upward—an image that amused him for all of four seconds before he found himself in need of a new diversion yet again.

"Go to a club?" she offered.

He snorted, "At four in the afternoon?"

"Well, I'd say go and bother some of our roommates, but they're all out _having fun._" She glared at him pointedly. "Which is something, y'know, we could totally be doing as well if a certain somebody hadn't declined the offer to join them because he suddenly decided that sex was more important."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time," he pointed out defensively.

One (of the many) great thing about Lizzy was that she didn't even bother arguing that, merely sighed and shrugged in defeat. "True."

After that, they lapsed into an unwelcome silence. Several seconds passed as they both tried to come up with something—anything to pass the time

"We could always play strip poker," she finally suggested half-heartedly.

He took another drag on his joint and shook his head.

"Nah. We already did that, remember?"

"Obviously not. I think that the boredom is eating away at my brain," she whined, clutching her head dramatically.

"It could just be all the dope and booze that's doing that."

"Yeah, but, I'm reluctant to give that up. I'd rather just blame it on the boredom, y'know?"

"True, true…" He exhaled heavily. "What about skinny dipping?"

"Hon, why does _everything_ we come up with involve nudity?"

He looked at her as if she was crazy for not knowing the answer.

"Because nudity is beautiful, babe. Y'know—_au naturale?_ It's like…fucking art or something." He grimaced, rubbing a hand over his face. "Damn, Jude's been getting to me… Anyway, though, like I was saying, nudity is a wonderful thing because it's a way of, like, expressing yourself in a perfectly natural state without all the fancy doodads and what-have-yous and shit, y'know? It's like…_real_, man. It's fuckin' beautiful. All I can tell ya is that the world would be a _much _better place if we were all allowed to walk around bare-assed."

Silence, then:

"Unless they were ugly."

"Well, yeah, obviously," he admitted. "That goes without saying."

Laughing quietly, she shook her head.

"Shallow bastard."

"What?" he asked, lifting his head to glare at her in mock-defense. "You feel the same way."

"Unfortunately," she sighed with a roll of her dark eyes. Suddenly, she propped herself up on her elbows to shoot him a look of scrutiny. "Y'know, you become ridiculously philosophical when you're high. It's sad, really, because you're not very good at it."

The pot having made his brain even more sluggish than normal, he found himself unable to come up with a clever retort, and so instead settled on sticking his tongue out at her like a small child. She crossed her eyes in retaliation before huffing in annoyance:

"That still doesn't solve our little boredom problem." She let her head drop back onto his chest. "What now?"

"Mm…I dunno …" He lifted a hand hopelessly. "We could always get married."

"Excuse me?"

He snickered, "What? You're bored, aren't you?

"Married," she tested the word before laughing weakly. "Shit...we _would _get married because we're bored."

"I'm thinkin' it would at least kill a couple hours."

"True as that may be," she admitted slowly, "I'd rather not get hitched out of sheer lack of anything better to do. It'd be nice if there were, y'know…love involved. Stuff like that."

Even in his intoxicated state, he could tell that they were about to enter dangerous territory. Love? Shit. Not good, not good at all. Though she hadn't even hinted toward wanting him to make any grand sort of confession—hell, she'd probably only said the word because that was the only reason people _should _get married—he didn't want to think about it. If he did, then he would start feeling guilty because this seemed like yet another one of those instances where he should have responded with something like, "Come off it, baby, you know I love you" but he never would, because, Jesus Christ, _love?_ No. No way. That just would not happen. He would make a shitty boyfriend, and they both knew it. Not to mention the fact that the mere thought of commitment to anything made him claustrophobic.

Okay, so fine, that was an exaggeration. But it was pretty damn close to how he really felt. He couldn't just drop everything to devote himself to _her_. One-Night Stand was his middle name (after Edison). How would the public react to the thought of Maxwell Carrigan: Steady Boyfriend?

Actually, knowing his roommates, after the initial shock wore off, they would probably all be pretty happy for him. Shit. This wasn't working. He was thinking about things that he didn't need to think about. And over contemplation of this so-called relationship that he had with Lizzy would lead to the guilt. And guilt was just not his color. It was time for a different tactic. Now.

"This is as close as you're gonna get, babe," he told her, shrugging. "Think about it: We could round up some people—I'm sure Sadie's drugged-up priest friend Father Mackenzie would be more than willing to do the honors. Or we could ask that buddy of yours…the war-protest singer, what's his name…Pepper?"

"First off, Rocky was a sergeant, not a captain. Secondly, he'd have to be a captain of a ship in order to do it, not a captain in the army. And thirdly, in any case, I am not allowing one of my ex-boyfriends to marry us and that's that."

"Fine, spoil sport. But I'm tellin' ya, you've gotta learn to let go of the past or else it's just gonna keep getting in the way of important things—like alleviating my boredom."

She pinched him—not hard; he yelped louder than was necessary.

"Ow! Bitch…"

"That's still a shitty reason to get married, and you know it."

"Well, if you can't think of anything better…"

"I can't."

"In that case…" He smirked and without another word (or thought), he leapt to his feet, and, taking her by the hand, hurried out the door.

"Skinny dipping it is, then!"

**۞۞۞**

This ending feels entirely too abrupt. However, unfortunately, I cannot think of a better one. In a way, though, it feels oddly fitting of Max, y'know? Like he'd randomly talk about getting married one minute, then ten seconds later, the thought has left his head and he's already moved on (or forgotten it entirely) and suggesting that they do something else.

**Disclaimer****:** I own Lizzy and nothing or no one else. Don't sue me.


End file.
